


Delayed Response

by Viridian5



Series: Thinking Twice [3]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Drama, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-31
Updated: 2000-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:25:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aftershocks keep showing up days after Ray's accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delayed Response

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "Victoria's Secret," "Letting Go," and "Odds."
> 
> Ray's injuries and recovery are based on accident damage of my own from five years ago, but we have different causes. His was a large, full, wooden packing crate, while mine was 20 other concert-goers falling on me and taking me down headfirst to a concrete floor.

"You don't look that bad to me," Dewey said. A shame that I'd find it more surprising if he _hadn't_ decided to be an ass. "Looks like a tan. You go to Hawaii those two days?"

Gee, this was what I missed on my first day back yesterday. Too bad he couldn't be off the whole time I'd be riding a desk. "Yeah? Well, the brown's from broken blood vessels. You can get this look too if you let me smash your face against the floor a few times. You up for that?"

But he was just saying what everybody else was thinking. It didn't matter how close I came to getting paralyzed or dead, I didn't _look_ bad enough for people to believe. Folks kept mistaking the broken blood vessels for freckles or a tan from a distance. Swelling had gone down totally on the second day after my accident, and that was two days ago. The blood spot in my eye had drifted from the corner to somewhere near the middle, but nobody noticed that at first either. So everybody was saying I looked pretty good either as misplaced comfort or to bust my chops.

Much as it made me happy that getting a giant crate dropped on my head hadn't left me grotesque looking for life, I kind of wished people could see that I'd been through something big that hadn't left me yet. But they couldn't see into my brain.

Frannie, trying to help me, said, "Are you kidding? He looks awful. So back off, beefhead. I mean it." She stared Dewey down until he put his hands up in exaggerated surrender and left while muttering about how I needed women to defend me when I didn't have Fraser around.

"Uh, thanks," I said. She had her heart in the right place.

"Where is Fraser anyway?" she asked. "I figured he'd be all over you like a guard dog."

I managed not to let my hurt bleed into my answer. "He has a real job too, Frannie. If he wanted to do paperwork, he could stay at the consulate, which is what he's doing. Not much for him to do while I'm on desk duty."

It was better this way. Really. The whole day he'd stayed home with me had been beyond awkward. Aside from going overboard with the mother hen routine, he didn't want to look at my battered face, but he obviously felt he had to, making it painful for me to watch how much pain he felt looking at my pain. My every unconscious grunt of discomfort made him get this expression like I'd kicked him. He offered to stay with me for my second and last day out of work, but I told him to go. I couldn't take having him around like that.

But I hadn't thought that would make him stay away yesterday and today.

"That doesn't sound like him. He doesn't just hang around here because he likes chasing bad guys down."

I needed something better to tell her. "I told him I didn't want him coddling me."

Her eyes lit up with an "a-ha!" combined with that disgusted "Men!" look she got sometimes, but it changed to this angry, killer expression. "Does that mean we're not gonna see him until you're back on regular duty?"

Two weeks of no Fraser with her thinking I was at fault? The whole idea made me nervous. "Nah. We'll be sorted out soon."

"You know, you really don't look that hot."

"Haven't been sleeping too good." Hurt to put my head on the pillow. Hurt to do anything with my lumpy head, actually. Yesterday, I tried to use my glasses to read all the damned paperwork I was doing, but they made my face hurt so much that I had to stop wearing them after an hour. Having fuzzy forms swimming in front of my eyes didn't help my headache, but at least my face didn't hurt quite so bad.

Joy of joys, today I was going to try solid foods for lunch. After only four days, I hated soup and pudding with a passion. Sick of it all.

"Take care of yourself, Ray. I mean it."

"Sure, sis."

As Frannie smiled and walked away, Stella took that as her cue to come up at bat. I steeled myself for whatever she had to say, but what came out of her mouth was "I'm sorry, Ray."

She looked so concerned for me that I felt warm all over. Good ol' Stel. "I'm better than I deserve to be," I said with a little smile. Even aside from Stella being kind, I couldn't help loving all these distractions since I had way too much time to think yesterday.

"We'll get the man who did this to you."

"I heard everybody had a big effort going while I was out. I appreciate it."

"Where's Fraser?" she asked, way too casually. Please don't let this be heading there.

"At work. Y'know, his real job."

"Did he get hurt at all?"

"Ripped up his hands getting the crate off me." I had to find that out for myself the next day; he probably wouldn't have told me if I hadn't seen his palms for myself and asked.

"Yet he's not here."

Jesus. Here I thought she felt some concern for me, but she only talked me up because she had some agenda against Fraser. "Like I said, he has a job too. Look, I have a mind of my own, and it's not like he threw the crate on me himself."

"Ray, I know you can be impetuous, and I know that danger is a part of being a cop, but you've been getting injured over and over again since you partnered with him. This time you could have died. He's taking advantage of you. What has to happen for you to put a stop to that?"

I already brought it up with Fraser, and he'd promised to change, but hell if I would air our dirty laundry in public and for Stella. "We're fine, and I'm so glad you care about me so much that you put in a sentence or two of concern for me before you started ripping in on Fraser." Shit. What was that? Something in my face....

"We may not be together anymore, but I still care and--"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. "Could you put the rant on pause for a minute? I have to check something." My face was _buzzing_ like I had pins and needles in it.

"Ray, I will not--" Then her tone changed. "Ray, what's wrong?"

"Be right back." I went off at a fast walk--maybe faster than usual but still within the realm of regular Ray speeds--and finally skidded to a halt in front of the bathroom mirror. My face looked the same way it had yesterday, but I had that pins and needles feeling on the right side from my hairline to under my jaw and through my left cheekbone like the way your arm feels when you sleep on it all night. Into the right side of my neck too. All of it buzzing. I thought the pain had been scary. Shit. Plus, it felt like my eyes were jiggling in their sockets. Shit, shit.

I stroked my right cheek. The skin felt okay to my fingertips, but my face felt the touch as if I had a layer of Silly Putty between it and my fingers. It's been four fucking days; how could a new problem start now?

Okay. Calm. Calm down. Stress seemed to make my damage feel worse, so maybe I was just reacting to Stella. This would pass. Temporary. All temporary. I'd be fine.

I washed up and walked out, all calm. Calm as can be. Is my face buzzing like I permanently damaged the nerves? Hell, no!

"Are you all right, Ray?" Stella asked.

"I'm fine, Stel."

"I'm sorry. This wasn't the best time. But please think about it."

"Yeah."

Stella smirked, recognizing my "on a cold day in hell" voice. "You're not hiding anything from me."

"Got nothing to hide."

"I care about you, Ray."

"I know." Not enough, but she did as best she could.

"See you later." She made it sound like a promise and a threat at the same time.

  


* * *

"Can I see you for a moment, Lieu? Privately."

"Yeah, come in, Ray." Once I closed the door behind me, he asked, "What can I do for ya?"

I hated this. "I may have to come in late tomorrow, sir. Doctor's visit. I made an appointment, and you know how doctors don't keep cop hours. Something's wrong in my face and neck."

I saw genuine concern on his face. "In your face?"

"Pins and needles. Buzzing like. Some weirdness behind my eyes too. It started halfway through my shift today. I figured it would go away, but it didn't. It's really distracting." And fucking scary. "It's probably nothing, and I feel a bit like a baby for going, but I knew this guy who blew his ankle out playing basketball. He didn't get it looked at for a week, waiting until he couldn't take the pain anymore. Turns out that if he went in immediately, he could've gotten surgery on his ruptured Achilles tendon, had a cast on it for a bit, done some PT, and been good to go. But it was too late for surgery, so instead he had to wear a cast for three months and now he can't run or jump or anything for the rest of his life for fear his mushy ankle will give way totally, and--"

"Go to the doctor. Please."

"Sir?"

"You had a heavy object dropped on your _neck_. Going is smart. I want you 100%."

I couldn't help the smile that sneaked out. "Thanks."

He overdid his exasperated look a bit. "Good night, Ray. I better see you in here immediately after your doctor's appointment."

  


* * *

My face buzzed all the way home too, and my big decision for the night revolved around whether I'd take a shower now or after I had whatever sleep I could get. The spray always hurt at first, but once the heat settled into and relaxed my body it made for the closest thing I had to a vacation from the pain. Almost felt like myself then.

The phone rang. I picked it up and tried to clamp it between my jaw and shoulder as usual to keep my hands free to pour myself some milk. Fuck! Stupid! The pain and spasm had me dropping my cup and the phone to the floor, the battery tumbling out as it hit. Milk spilled across the counter and down the cupboard. Damn. I crouched down slowly to pick everything up, ignoring the anvil swinging through my head, and got back up just as slowly. Lost the call. I put the battery back in, then mopped up the spill.

Like the old saying went, no use crying, right? Besides, it only made my head pound.

Ring. I picked up and heard, "Ray, are you all right?" Fraser. Sounding worried, of course.

"Yeah, but I dropped the phone."

"How was your day?"

"Slow. I miss being out on the street doing things, and the paperwork stinks." I wouldn't mention my problem with wearing my glasses. He might offer to do the work for me, and I wouldn't wish all those forms on anyone. Besides, what would _I_ do with myself then? "I tried a sandwich but had to go with the chili after all. Too soon, I guess. Missed you at lunch." Fuck! Didn't mean to let that out. I tried to shovel it under a bit by immediately saying, "Frannie's missing you."

"I'm sorry. I-- It's been surprisingly busy at the consulate."

Wow. He lied, and lightning didn't even strike or anything. Then again, that bit with Lady Shoes showed me he could do that when he wanted to. "You got a job. I understand that."

"Do you need any help? Should I come over?"

Yeah, Fraser. My neck hurt too much to even turn, and I couldn't bend good enough to clean the milk off my floor, and I miss you. Miss you like I'd miss my right arm if I lost it. But then I'd have to see him look like a kicked puppy all night. God, shouldn't I be able to say that I wanted him to think before he threw himself into something without him reacting by burying himself in guilt and refusing to see me anymore? Guess not.

"No, I'm all right, buddy. I'm gonna turn in early anyway."

"Very well. Good night, Ray." He sounded so sad.

Join the club. "Good night, Fraser." No use crying over spilt milk.

  


* * *

Waiting rooms always had at least one person who sounded like he was gonna cough up a lung. I mean, you go to the doctor for one problem, and you leave afraid that you picked up the plague while you were waiting. The people who could pass stuff on to you should have a different room or something.

Doctor Reynolds was a good doctor, in the pre-HMO way. Nowadays, most general practitioners look at you, say you need to schedule an appointment with a specialist weeks later to actually get anything done for the problem you have right now, then charge you for their time. Reynolds knows all kinds of stuff and does his best to take care of you in-house.

I wished I could talk to Fraser about the thoughts going through my head lately. Out of anybody I knew, he'd probably be the person who'd understand best, seeing as how he'd been shot in the back once, so close to the spine that they couldn't even take the bullet out for fear of paralyzing him that way. But even if he'd been dealing well with me being hurt, I couldn't bring his spine thing up since it was a Victoria-related injury.

But I'd never needed to talk about something so much in my life. Not wanted, needed. I felt _compelled_. But there was no way in hell I'd talk to the counselor; that'd be like putting a target on my back. Besides, would anything I said go in my record or Vecchio's? I could screw either or both of us over. And nobody else wanted to hear about it. It made them uncomfortable, made them feel bad. So I shut up and went for a joke instead, pretended. Didn't make the thoughts or the need go away.

I'm a cop, and I've been shot badly more than once. I knew that death was a possibility. But this had happened too fast, too differently, out of the blue, too close. As I felt the weight bearing down on me, I thought I was going to die. It all felt so _slow_. It was probably just from all the pressure pushing down on my head, but I saw this light at the center of a dark tunnel. Crazy, right, but I couldn't stop thinking about it now.

I would have died, immediately, if that guy hadn't tried to take his partner _and_ me out with one crate. I survived because the partner took most of the force and weight instead of me and died right on top of me. Fraser had to pull the corpse off to get to me.

Or I could have been paralyzed. Thinking of how I felt just being strapped into a neck brace and backboard, I think I'd rather die.

If I was paralyzed or killed, would they just sweep it under the rug? Put some new guy in as Vecchio like nothing had happened, tab B2 into slot A? Though it'd be more like tab B3 in this case. Fraser would have to pretend along. That'd probably kill him.

Instead, I was alive. Hurting but alive. This pins and needles thing in my head was probably just temporary, not nerve damage.

My problems with Fraser were probably just temporary too. Everything would be better once my face returned to normal and I stopped having to slowly lever myself out of bed in the morning.

Had another sex dream last night. Starring Fraser, of course. My head was still a mess from it.

I'm sitting at my desk looking at something on the computer with him clinging to my back like plastic wrap and looking over my shoulder. I can feel his hot breath against my ear. Suddenly his lips are teasing my earlobe while his hands slide around my waist, and I'm so good to go. As soon as I stand up we're kissing like we're afraid it's the last time we'll ever be able to, while his fingers are getting wicked clever under my waistband, over my ass, down my ass.... His fingers know no shame, and apparently I don't either because I'm knocking stuff off my desk with one arm before I lay down on it, legs spread wide, with "Take me; I'm yours" written all over me.

He gives me this wicked grin before he leaps up onto the desk with me, ending up crouched over me on his hands and knees, looking as animal as the hungry gleam in his eyes. More feverish kissing and stroking follows until he's lying pressed on top of me, which feels good at first. Hot and close and dirty. But he keeps getting heavier and heavier, and it's starting to hurt. He's crushing me.

"Hey, buddy, you're leaning on me too hard," I say, but he just grunts and grinds. "Really, I can't breathe too well, guy." He smiles at close range, and he gets heavier. "Fraser!" And heavier....

I'm pushing at him and yelling, "Get offa me. Get _off_," and he gets off... gets off all over me, but he doesn't get up. I'm gasping for air. He makes this satisfied purring kind of sound, then starts to gnaw at my neck like it's prime steak, still crushing me all the while. It's getting harder and harder to breathe--

Then I woke up, thank God. Seemed to take forever for my heart to stop pounding. At least my erection faded first. I was _not_ into that kind of thing.

Aside from telling me that I had to stop reading Frannie's romance novels while I was in the can, the dream showed me that my little accident had fucked things up worse than I thought. Duh, right? I mean, Fraser bore some responsibility for what had happened to me. He went rushing in there, and--as his backup, his only backup since he didn't give me time to call for more--I had to follow. But my nightmare's Fraser was malicious and sadistic, enjoying my pain and helplessness, and I didn't see him that way at all. I thought. Did some small, unconscious part of me think he got off on this shit?

"Raymond Vecchio?" the receptionist called. Showtime. I gathered my stuff and hoped I didn't have more bad news ahead.

  


* * *

Damn, this thing hurt, and I just had the foam. How did people in those hard collars stand them? I guess they had no choice. My neck hurt like hell, but I'd lost the pins and needles. Doc seemed to be right.

The pain didn't scare me as much as the pins and needles. Pain I understood.

_Now_ people stared. A big, white foam thing wrapped around your neck drew attention. Now they realized I'd really been hurt. I felt a dark, weird little thrill about all that. Very "See? I wasn't just whining about nothing."

Everybody's eyes followed me as I walked into the squad room, where Fraser stood at Frannie's desk, arguing with her in that oh so reasonable Mountie way that tried to seem like it wasn't really arguing. Just stating a logical point, ma'am, and you'd do well to adjust your views to mine. Made me smirk.

Then he turned in my direction, and his face... well, his face did so many different things so fast that I wished I could rewind and watch in slow motion. His eyes sparked with happiness, guilt, fear, worry, then anger before going dead into the stoic Mountie mask. His mouth opened, smiled, sagged, then closed into a line that tried for normal and relaxed but looked tense. I probably missed a few reactions, but it had been fast. I'd have to have a private chat with him later.

Looked like I had everybody's attention now that Lieutenant Welsh had come out of his office to join the party. I raised my voice to say, "Uh, general announcement. It'd be great if I only had to run through this once, and I'm sure some of you could put it through the grapevine for me if I missed anybody. Yesterday I got a pins and needles feeling through the right side of my neck and face along with what felt like some jiggling behind my eyes. You'd think four days would be the statue of limitations on some new problem popping up out of an old injury, but you'd be wrong."

"Statute," Fraser whispered under his breath, sounding distracted and shocky, like his mouth did the instinctive correction while his brain had gone out to lunch.

"Yeah, I know," I answered him, though I said it loud enough for the room to hear. "So I did the smart thing and went to a doctor. Turns out I got a little bit of nerve damage, but the doc figures the nerves should grow back in the next few months. He told me to go to a rheumatologist to be sure. This collar keeps my head and neck in a good position for healing and to avoid stressing the nerves, and he expects that I'll wear it for at least two weeks. I get to take it off when the specialist tells me so. It must be working, because the pins and needles are gone. I'm fine, and I can still kick people in the head if they deserve it. That's everything; nothing more to see here. Thanks."

Everybody started to talk amongst themselves except for Fraser, who looked like the effort to hold back whatever he was feeling would kill him. I grabbed him by the arm. "Could we talk in private, guy?"

He was _white_. "I think that would be a good idea."

Welsh gave me this gesture of approval as I left the room with Fraser. Nice to think somebody thought I knew what I was doing.

Fraser dragged along stiffly at my side until I closed the closet door behind me and turned on the light. Then he burst into life. "Yesterday? I called you last night, and you said nothing of this." Angry. Well, at least it made a vacation from guilty.

Not that I felt I'd done something worthy of anger. "I hoped it would be gone by morning. No need to worry you if it was just a blip. Besides, what could you do to help with this? Nothing. It'd just distract you from your work at the consulate."

He flinched. Score one for Ray. "You should have told me."

"I just told you. It's not like I'm making it this big secret. If I really wanted to try to keep you in the dark, I wouldn't wear the collar while you were around. That'd take a real need for revenge since I'd be screwing up my own healing that way, but if I'm a really bad guy, what's a little nerve damage in service to the cause? Dammit, I have a better sense of self.... self-preservation than that. But maybe I could get away with that without doing that much harm, since you're never around very long lately anyway." Damn, I hadn't even realized how angry I felt until it started spilling out my mouth. He had some fucking nerve.

Score two and three, given Fraser's reaction. Guilt. Misery. "Ray--"

"No. You have no right. I talked to you that night, Fraser. I talked to you. I did the truthful thing, and I stood up for myself, and you responded by staying away. I asked for one day to myself, and you gave me three. As punishment? Am I just supposed to take this? So I saw what telling you what's up gets me, so I kept my mouth shut last night. If you're such a hypocrite that honesty is a problem, I'm not gonna--"

He set his finger on my lower lip. Gently. It felt warm and a bit rough. To shut me up was my first thought, but the look on his face didn't go along with that. The look on his face said he thought it might be one of the few places he could touch without hurting me.

"I'm so sorry, Ray. I never meant to cause more pain. I certainly didn't mean for you to see my behavior as punishment for doing what you _should_ do." His eyes, focused totally on me, looked so blue. Did they look wet?

The callus on his fingertip dragged against my lip as I spoke and sent a direct line down to my dick. I so didn't need that now. "What is it then?" I asked, frustrated as all hell. "I was starting to feel like the fucking Elephant Man. It can't be you being afraid you'll drag me into more trouble, because I'm riding a desk right now. I know this paperwork shit is dull, but that doesn't mean you can't make a quick visit for lunch or something."

Fraser took a deep breath. "It hurt me to see you suffering and know I was responsible. I should have seen the possibility that going away for my own safety would make you suffer more." He laughed, and it sounded nearly bitter. "I thought I was saving you from me."

"Well, I'm not a mind reader. When you're avoiding me, I figure it's because you're avoiding me, got it? _Tell_ me this stuff, okay?"

"Another thing I should amend. I swear, Ray, that I'll work to get it right."

"And they think you're the one who's patient," I said. He smiled, kind of painfully, then his finger slid off my lip and down my chin to come to a light rest on the collar, rubbing a little against the bottom of my jaw. My heart jumped, but I played it cool. Keep it light, Ray. "Now we both have tear-away Velcro collars." Having his finger there still beat having it on my lip, where my tongue kept flicking against it.

Was he putting the moves on me, or did the Canadian version of apology touches just look like foreplay? Either way, this wasn't the time. We had too many other things on the plate to get into this now too. Later.

"I shall endeavor to be worthy of your patience." Only he could say something like that and sound honest instead of smirking. Hell, only he could say something like that, period. "Ray, I _want_ you to talk to me."

"I want to talk to you too."

 

### End


End file.
